


can't fight fair

by darkcity



Category: All Elite Wrestling, Professional Wrestling
Genre: Edgeplay, M/M, Pillow Princess OC, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28373556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkcity/pseuds/darkcity
Summary: He might not be strong enough to kick Orange out of his bed, but maybe there’s something else he can do.
Relationships: Orange Cassidy/Chuck Taylor
Comments: 13
Kudos: 43





	can't fight fair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hogiesthogmoment](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hogiesthogmoment/gifts).



> this is pretty late, but happy bday anyway [hogiesthogmoment](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hogiesthogmoment)!! i hope you like this
> 
> other people, i hope you like this too. pillow princess oc is very important to me

“I’m going to sleep,” Chuck says, opening the door to his room. Orange is trailing behind him, has been since they left the venue, and Chuck just doesn’t wanna give him the wrong idea. Not that he’d object to the company — he wouldn’t say no to Orange napping with him, although it always makes Chuck jealous to see how easy it is for him to fall asleep. But they’re usually doing something else when they’re in a bed together, and he’s way too tired for that right now.

Orange responds with one of his classic hums, and Chuck recognizes it as the dismissive one. It’s the hum he gives Chuck when he doesn’t believe what he’s saying, and it’s totally unwarranted here. Except that, alright, _technically_ he’s probably not going to sleep — it’s more likely he’ll stare at the ceiling for a few hours until giving up on the attempt. But it’s the same thing, functionally. The point is he’s _not_ in the mood.

“I _am_ ,” he insists to Orange's blank face. He heads straight for the bed, kicking his shoes away and pulling his shirt off. He barely gets it over his head before Orange is crawling onto his lap, running a hand down his chest. He huffs and Orange acts like he doesn’t notice, leaning in for a kiss Chuck doesn’t have the energy to return.

He doesn’t get why Orange is always so horny for it anyway — you’d think Chuck is some crazy hot, jacked dude he can’t wait to get his hands on, or like, the most skilled lover ever. And ten years ago he’d probably say both those things are true, but he’s wised up enough by now to know neither of them are. But hey, Chuck is definitely… tall? Maybe Orange just really likes tall guys.

And, for some fucked up reason, he seems extra wound up when Chuck’s coming off a big match, like tonight, which is as frustrating as it is confusing. It was fun when they were younger, pumped up from adrenaline and fooling around in the locker room, occasionally making it back to their motel room. It’s not nearly as fun now. Chuck’s not even good in bed when he’s this exhausted. So, what, does Orange _like_ that? Is that what gets him going — tall, tired guys? Fucking weirdo.

“C’mon, dude,” Chuck grumbles, pushing him away gently. Orange gives him some space, letting him lie back and close his eyes. But then he feels the familiar weight of Orange crawling on top of him and when he opens his eyes, there he is, looming above him with his jacket off now.

“You really don’t wanna?” Orange asks, in that sad tone like his feelings are hurt. But Chuck knows when he’s being played.

“I’m _tired_ , man. Can’t you just… take care of yourself?” he gestures vaguely between their bodies, and Orange stares at him like he’s got two heads. “Don’t give me that look. You know how to jerk off, it’s not fuckin’ rocket science.” Orange whines softly, and it takes some effort for Chuck not to whine right back, exhausted and frustrated. “Orange, c’mon, I’m fucking beat.”

“But... You’re better at it,” Orange says, and Chuck scoffs. That’s not even a good line. “Your hands are so much bigger,” he adds, picking up one of Chuck’s hands to illustrate his point, and. Well. Orange’s hands _are_ really small, okay. And now he’s flashing those puppy-dog eyes that obviously shouldn’t work after all these years. He always gets away with pulling that cutesy shit though; no wonder he ended up such a spoiled little princess. “Please?”

“ _Fine_ ,” Chuck grunts, pushing him over and blanketing his body. He kisses the smug smile off of his face because he already knows he’s the biggest sucker in the world — he doesn’t need to see it written on Orange’s face.

“Thanks, Chuck,” Orange says sweetly.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, pulling Orange’s shirt off.

He should teach him a lesson. Refuse to touch him at all for a while, shrug him off the next time he gets drunk and frisky. Leave him pent up and unsatisfied, getting more and more desperate until he cracks and finally rides Chuck, like he should’ve done a hundred times by now.

But Chuck’s not an idiot. Well, he’s not a _complete_ idiot. He knows if he put the brakes on this whole thing, it’d kill him way before it’d kill Orange, even if it always pans out like this: Orange lying on his back and having the time of his life while Chuck does all the work for him. It turns out being the one in control sounds a lot sexier than it is practice. In practice, he’s kind of just a tool, doing whatever Orange wants him to, his payment being what — getting to touch him? Which is a pretty fair price, actually. So he'll always end up here, Orange splayed out lazily under him, blissful look on his face as he leans back and lets Chuck do everything.

Chuck yanks his jeans off, and even though his eyelids are feeling heavier by the minute, he can’t help taking a second to appreciate the sight under him. It’s nothing new, but it never gets any less ridiculous, Orange on his back in his boxer briefs, with his perfect abs and perfect face and a flush just starting to spread down over his shoulders.

He looks like a fucking Armani ad, like one of those posters they put up in the underwear department that make you feel like shit about your body. Another reason people let him get away with being so lazy. Even as Chuck sighs and leans down, his tired muscles protesting against having to hold himself up with one arm, he feels lucky to be here.

At least Orange is just as easy as he is; it doesn’t take much to get him going. Chuck strokes a hand over his thigh and skims his teeth against his ear the way he likes, and his breathing’s already picking up. He cants his hips up and Chuck pulls off his briefs then, getting a hand on him. He tries to be efficient about it, wanting to make this quick so he can go back to lying down and being useless, but he can’t really stop his dick from twitching at Orange’s moans. He can ignore it, though, focusing on pulling out all the stops to push Orange over the edge.

He can tell when he starts getting close, stomach muscles clenched and brows drawn up. He speeds up his strokes reflexively, Orange’s mouth going slack around the soft noises he lets out. It’s all textbook, the usual drill, but Chuck finds himself caught up in the expression on Orange’s face for some reason. It must be the same face he makes every time he comes, but Chuck’s never really registered it, the look in his eyes that’s close to desperation, like he’s coiled up with tension only Chuck can unwind. It hits him then — he might not be strong enough to kick Orange out of his bed, but maybe there’s something else he can do.

He slows his hand down, right as Orange squeezes his eyes shut, and he bucks up a little harder into his fist at the change of pace. The response eggs Chuck on and he slows down even more, slackening his grip… letting go.

“Wha…” Orange murmurs, opening his eyes. He looks down at Chuck’s hand sliding over his abs, his dick straining and untouched. “Why,” he says simply, blinking up at him.

Pretty anticlimactic — for both of them, he guesses — although Chuck doesn’t know what exactly he expected. It makes him feel a little silly.

“Nothing,” he sighs. “Nevermind.” He wraps his hand around Orange again and he does get a nice little jerk out of it, a moan deeper than usual. It’s something, he guesses, but still not satisfying. He practically rolls his eyes at himself, stroking Orange tight and fast, working him back up.

This time, when Orange tenses up again, close, fingers pressing into Chuck’s shoulders, he does seem at least slightly more desperate than before. Like, maybe, if Chuck took his hand away, he’d be a little more upset about it this time. It would be weird to pull that shit again — this isn’t a thing that they do. But Orange arches up, and his moans get all clipped, and Chuck can’t help but wonder…

So he lets go again. Orange grunts this time, his eyes flying open, thrusting up into nothing. Way better.

Chuck smiles, watching Orange’s brow furrow as he tries to wrap his little mind around the idea of Chuck denying him something. Orange finally huffs, reaching down, like he’s actually gonna finish himself off for once. Chuck grabs his wrist without thinking, then snatches his other hand up too, when he tries using that one.

“ _Hey_ ,” he says firmly, to Orange’s confused look. “Thought you didn’t wanna do it yourself, huh?" He pins his wrists down above his head, surprised at how easily they fit in his grip and wondering how the hell he’s never thought to do this before.

Orange squirms under him, but, just like always, he’s not really trying. He doesn’t seem to mind the position too much, his cock still hard and his pupils huge, even as he squints at Chuck, confused and impatient.

“Hey, relax, okay? Just let me take care of you,” Chuck tells him. He dips down for a kiss, filthy and deep, putting a rare sort of effort into making it good and being rewarded by the shivery sigh Orange lets out. “Don’t I always?”

Orange nods dumbly, panting, still a little tense. But Chuck takes him back in hand and then he’s melting into the bed, closing his eyes and sighing. Placated again just like that, totally blissed out and absolutely clueless, moaning like he’s certain Chuck's gonna give him what he wants, like he always does.

That’s a tall order, though, now that Chuck’s gotten a taste of what it’s like when he _doesn’t_. He's not sure how long he can keep this up — he really is tired, and he doesn’t know if it's like, bad for Orange's dick to get jerked so much or something — but there’s no way he’s gonna stop now. He thinks he might be onto something here. Well, he knows he is, because Orange is already getting crazy responsive, letting out a whole array of noises Chuck usually has to work real hard to pry out of him. Turns out all it takes is being an asshole, which luckily comes easy to him.

Orange actually announces when he’s close this time, gasping it out, and Chuck almost laughs at that before remembering he’s got a facade to maintain. He mutters encouragement instead, speeding his hand up and feeling Orange’s thighs tense up around his hips. Chuck gives it a few more seconds, making sure Orange really thinks he’s gonna get off this time, before he lets go. It’s like it takes Orange’s body a second to realize what’s going on, a strangled groan breaking out of his throat and his hips jerking up hard, desperate for friction, until Chuck pins them down with his hand.

It’s a real trip. Chuck’s strength has been convenient in bed before, mainly for maneuvering Orange around, since he basically goes boneless the second his back hits the mattress. It’s fucked things up too, when Chuck’s drunk and careless and gets a little too rough. But it’s different like this, actually having to put force into his hold, pinning Orange to the bed, watching him writhe around. It makes Chuck feel a little crazed, seeing his grip all tight on his body, his hand huge compared to the narrow hips underneath it.

“What’re you _doing_ ,” Orange grunts. His voice is rough and his eyes are dark, arousal and anger in equal parts.

Chuck ignores him, running a finger feather-light over his shaft, just to watch him gasp and tense up again. He bites his cheek to stop from smiling obnoxiously, furrowing his brow and tilting his head like he doesn’t understand what’s got Orange so wound up.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“ _Chuck_... c’mon.” Orange struggles weakly against the hold on his wrists, getting nowhere. “Don’t make me.”

“What, make you beg?” Chuck needles, enjoying the way it makes Orange flush even redder, looking off to the side. “Nah, I’m not gonna,” he says easily, getting his hand back on him.

Orange moans instantly, then bites his lip like he regrets it. His hips push up into the touch but he squints at Chuck with something close to resentment, or at least wariness.

Chuck just smiles down at him, extra sweet, pressing kisses up his neck and stroking steadily, feeling Orange relax gradually under his touch. It doesn’t take long to regain his trust, and Chuck’s thrilled — and yeah, really fucking hard at this point. But he doesn't even care about getting off right now, not when he's so busy _not_ getting Orange off. He doesn’t know how long this has gone on for, but he’s pretty sure he could do it for hours, just work Orange up and let him down until he’s begging for it. It’s the most fun he’s had in a while.

It only takes another minute for Orange to start tensing up again, his moans going hitched and squeaky. Chuck decides to really lean into it this time, ducking down to mouth up his neck, scraping his teeth against the hinge of his jaw.

"You gonna come?" he breathes against his ear, and Orange nods shakily, frantic and eager. God, it's so fun being a jerk. "Yeah? C’mon, baby."

Orange groans deep in his chest and Chuck pumps him faster, letting him fuck up into his fist. He waits until the last second, right as Orange is gasping and seizing up. He slides his hand right off, watching with something like fascination as Orange’s cock actually twitches from the loss of contact, slick and even redder than the rest of his body.

Orange practically growls, thrashing under his grip, kicking at the bed, throwing a lazy little fit.

“Fuckin’... asshole,” he pushes through gritted teeth.

Chuck doesn’t laugh, but he can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face. It’s incredible seeing Orange so wound up, so _angry_ , like he wants to deck Chuck but he can’t because he wants to come even more. And his hands are pinned down anyway, something that sends a rush of heat through Chuck every time he glances up and reminds himself.

But Orange is glaring at him, really _glaring_ , and Chuck can’t remember the last time that look was directed at him. And maybe it’s just some wires getting crossed, with the flush in his cheeks and the way his eyes are all black and dazed even as he scowls, but it’s ridiculously hot. Chuck makes a mental note to piss him off more often.

For now, he takes Orange’s length back into his hand, both of them knowing exactly what’s going to happen.

“You’re such... a dick,” Orange manages, between moans he can’t suppress. He struggles weakly to free his hands again, and Chuck tightens his grip on his wrists without thinking, a little floored by the whimper Orange lets out when he does.

“Aw, what? I think I’m being pretty nice,” he says, pointedly looking down at his hand wrapped around Orange’s dick, stroking steadily. “I mean, I could leave though,” he adds, loosening his grip. “If you’d rather take care of yourself—”

“ _No_.”

“Yeah, too much work, right?” Orange opens his mouth, but Chuck squeezes his dick and cuts off whatever bitchy comment he was gonna make. “What’s that, did you wanna say something? Go ahead.” Orange actually tries it again, amazingly, and all Chuck has to do is swipe his thumb across the head of his dick for his words to turn into a whine. “You did this to yourself, y’know. You could’ve just let me sleep.” Orange gives him a pissy look for that, but it’s kinda undermined by the noises he can’t stop making and the way he’s leaking against his stomach.

He’s gotta know where this is going by now, but he thrusts up into Chuck’s hand anyway, letting himself get worked up. It was fun when he was still clueless, falling for the same thing over and over again. But this might be even hotter, Chuck thinks, the idea that he knows what’s coming but can’t stop himself from writhing and moaning anyway.

Chuck wasn’t lying when he said he wouldn’t make Orange beg, but by the fifth time — letting go just as Orange arches up off the bed, watching him grit his teeth, every muscle in his body tense, letting out this keening noise that Chuck’s never heard before — Orange does it on his own.

“Chuck, please, c’mon, please,” he babbles, voice high and thin. “Please let me, _please_.” Chuck runs his hand slowly over his abs, feeling the muscles twitch under his hand while he lets Orange go on, a steady stream of _Chuck_ and _please_ , until his breath hitches around a sound like a sob.

Orange looks up at him, out of words, nothing but a pathetic whine escaping his throat, his pale brows drawn up and eyes dark and shiny. The sight has Chuck fumbling at his own waistband unthinkingly, Orange watching hungrily and whining even louder when he pulls himself out, gasping like he can feel it when Chuck finally gets a hand on himself. He runs his thumb over the head and Orange jerks, whimpering, his dick straining.

“Shit, you want it bad, huh?” Chuck says, and Orange nods instantly, not even trying to pretend otherwise. He’s all flushed and sweaty and keeps trying to rock his hips up towards Chuck’s hand, and “you’re so fucking red, man,” Chuck tells him, meaning to laugh but ending up kinda breathless about it.

“ _Chuck_ ,” Orange says, reedy and strained. His eyes are getting _really_ shiny now, and fuck it, Chuck can’t take it anymore either.

He drops his hips down, finally taking Orange into his hand and stroking them together. He doesn’t realize his grip on Orange’s wrists has gone slack until he feels hands scrabbling at his shoulders, nails digging into the skin. Chuck doesn’t tease him anymore, just pumping them together, hard and fast. He can’t remember the last time he felt so frantic about it, which is wild because he figures Orange must be feeling about ten times crazier.

Orange doesn’t last more than a minute, after all he’s been through, moaning so loud Chuck already knows he’s gonna get shit from whoever’s booked in the next room over. Obviously he couldn’t care less right now, watching Orange come so hard his eyes roll back stupidly, waves wracking his body. Chuck hardly realizes that he’s following him right over, his own orgasm seeming almost secondary to the fucking rapture happening underneath him. He lets his own dick go after a few seconds, just working Orange, slower and gentler as his moans fizzle out, his muscles relaxing. It’s gotta be the best orgasm Orange has ever had, so maybe this wasn’t the most effective approach for teaching him a lesson, or whatever Chuck was going for. He can’t really be mad though, watching Orange finally sink back into the mattress and thinking that he kinda wants to try the whole thing himself sometime, if it feels that good.

Orange lies still, his eyes closed and chest heaving as he catches his breath for a long time. So long Chuck would think he’d fallen asleep if it weren’t for the hand winding its way into his hair, pulling him down for a kiss, soft and slow. Orange’s eyes are still closed when he pulls back, but now he’s got that dopey, blissed-out smile on his face that always does something weird to Chuck’s chest.

Then he starts turning over.

“Jesus, just wait a second,” Chuck says, pushing Orange’s shoulder down to keep him on his back, knowing he’d be perfectly happy to roll over and sleep with two loads on his stomach if no one stops him. “I’ll clean you up.”

He gets a hand towel from the bathroom, wetting it and figuring it doesn’t count as pampering Orange because he’s not waiting for the water to turn warm first this time. He’s totally showing him who’s boss, he thinks, wiping down Orange’s stomach and lifting his legs to pull the covers out from under them. He crawls in next to him, exhausted enough now that he might even be able to fall asleep.

“Mmmm,” Orange murmurs, cozying up to his side.

“Hey,” Chuck says, nudging him. “So... that was good?” he asks lamely, wrapping his arm around the blonde and laughing a little when he slings his leg over Chuck’s waist, rubbing his face against his chest like a cat.

“ _Mmmm._ ”

“... Could you do it to me next—”

“No.”

**Author's Note:**

> yes chuck thinks he invented edging
> 
> [tumblr](https://jcryder.tumblr.com/)


End file.
